Another Life
by Woooooosh
Summary: "Do you regret it: Leaving the Farm?" The words she didn't say came to her unbidden, hanging in the air like the early morning mist. Do you regret leaving me? "...Never." It's funny, how one person affects another. In different life, they could have been friends. AU
1. Chapter 1

Amber light fell onto the treetops as the sun set over the Black Hills, the clouds ever so slightly stretching with the wind. From his place on the top of the hill, Desmond watched them float lazily into the distance.

He wished he could float away, too: wherever they were going, it had to be better than here. They had run on the track all morning, and his muscles still burned from exertion. The trail was about one third of a mile long, and Desmond had lost count after the fifth lap. To make it even worse, his dad had pulled him aside for more running while everyone else had been dismissed for the day.

"'No son of mine is gonna grow up soft'," Desmond growled, putting as much of a scowl into it as possible. "'You're an assassin, and that means you need to be the best.' Best, huh? HA."

Desmond settled himself deeper into the grass, lifting one knee and resting an arm over his eyes.

"Stupid training. Stupid Dad," he muttered.

"Do you always talk to yourself?" a light voice asked. Desmond shot up like a bullet. A girl in a white shirt and blue shorts stood on his left, arms crossed, blonde hair framing two _very_ blue eyes.

"No," he denied.

"You're kinda weird," she said, with a smile on her face.

"You're weird!" Desmond's cheeks burned. "Who are you, anyways?"

"My name's Lucy." He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"I've never seen you around here before."

"I'm new," she said. "My dad's out doing stuff. I'm supposed to stay here for a while." A small "oh" popped out of Desmond's mouth. Lucy let her arms fall to her sides. "Your mom told me to come get you for dinner." Ever so slowly, he got up from his place on the ground, stretching his aching muscles on the way up. He noticed Lucy giving him a confused look.

"What?" he asked, a little defensively.

"That's it? You're just gonna follow me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"My dad always told me to be careful of strangers," Lucy turned toward him as they made their way back to the Farm. "What if I'd been an enemy or something?"

Desmond snorted. "I doubt it. You're just a kid."

Lucy frowned. "So? My dad says that looks can be deceiving."

There was a long pause before Desmond said anything. They came up to the front door of his house. "I still think that you're just a kid." The door opened, Desmond's mother standing on the other side.

"Just in time – I was starting to think you'd gotten lost," she said, looking at Lucy. Ushering them in, Desmond saw Lucy stick her small, pink tongue out at him. He stuck out his tongue back at her.

"Desmond! Don't be rude to our new guest!" she said, lightly smacking him on the noggin. He grumbled. Lucy giggled to herself on the other side.

"I don't know where he got it into him to be so rude," his mother said. He followed the two of them to the kitchen area, rubbing the back of his head on the way.

He could already tell that Lucy would be trouble for him.


	2. Chapter 2

When her dad told her that she'd be learning how to be an assassin, Lucy wasn't sure what she expected, but the enclave of small houses in the middle of nowhere wasn't what she had in mind.

Her dad called it "The Farm. " She didn't think it was like a farm at all. The entire area was secluded; a dense forest blocked the clearing from all angles. A small area was set aside for growing food, but it wasn't much. No cows, no pigs. Not a farm animal in sight. She noticed an old, musty looking kennel that looked like it hadn't been used in a while.

It was kind of like school. Every morning a bell rang to start the day, they had lessons, and a lunch break before heading back to the shed that acted as their classroom. Dismissed in the afternoon, and the rest of the day was theirs. There were only five kids near her age, all of them being grouped to have their lessons together.

"They'll teach you how to be an assassin," her father had said over dinner. "I'll come pick you up as soon as I can."

That was over two weeks ago, and Lucy hadn't heard anything from her father since.

Her dad had left her alone before for a day or two, usually on the weekends when she didn't have school. That was normal. But this long? Do other assassins usually go away for weeks at a time? She stared out the window to her right. The leaves were just starting to turn an auburn color, signaling the end of summer. This time of year was her least favorite; she never really knew why. Lucy wondered if the leaves were changing where her dad was, too.

"Desmond!" Her head snapped to the front of the room, where the reprimanding voice caught her attention. Mr. Miles stood, his back ramrod straight, hand positioned halfway through writing a sentence on the board.

"Would you like to enlighten us on what you're looking at that's so special?"

"Uhh," Lucy turned her eyes to look at where the boy was sitting. He sat at his desk, a pencil lightly gripped in his hand, and a blank look on his face.

"If not, then kindly pay attention to the lesson," Mr. Miles scolded, before continuing to write on the board. Desmond winced a bit to the sound of muffled snickers. She peered at him from across the room. His hand cradled his cheek in a miffed silence, and as soon as his father turned his back to the board, he looked outside the window again.

For all of the time she spent around him, Lucy actually hadn't spoken much to the youngest member of the Miles family. Mrs. Miles was always nice enough to ask if she needed anything, and Mr. Miles spent all of his time training her with the rest of the children, or off doing other work. Lucy even talked a bit with the other kids in their lessons, they seemed alright. One of the girls, Pamela, was friendly with her, although a bit shy.

Desmond, though? Lucy knew he spent a lot of time outside; more often than not his room was empty whenever she passed by, looking for something to distract her from her father. Aside from that, she didn't know much about him.

The other kids got up and stretched their legs, interrupting her thoughts. Class was over, then. She picked up the small notebook and pencil off of her desk and followed them out of the shack. It wasn't even ten feet from the shed before she heard the same intimidating voice from earlier:

"Desmond, you need to pay attention more," Mr. Miles loomed over his son, arms crossed. Desmond had his gaze diverted off to the side. "You need to be focused. You can't just get distracted by any little thing that passes by the window."

"Are you going to say anything?" Desmond's hands twitched at his sides.

"Nothing? Nothing at all?" Lucy barely caught the minute shake of his head. Mr. Miles drew his mouth into a hard line.

"Five extra laps around the track." Lucy stared as his father turned with a wave of his hand and started to walk away. "And I better not hear you whine about it later; I gave you a chance to explain yourself."

Desmond stayed in place for a minute, still looking at the ground, before lifting his head and moving – in her direction. She flattened her back to the side of the shed. She could hear his footsteps dragging in the dirt.

"What are you _doing_?" he asked. She stammered a bit under his stare.

"Nothing!" Desmond gave her a flat look before slouching toward the start of the track.

"And she calls _me_ weird?" He muttered to himself. Lucy stood still for a minute, just long enough for him to turn around the corner out of her sight, before hurrying after him.

She followed him to the track a little outside of the Farm, away from the houses. Desmond angrily tossed his notebook under a tree next to the track, before jogging to the line marking the starting point of the trail. Lucy set her own notebook to the ground, and resting her back against the large trunk.

He gave her an incredulous look, watching her from his position on the dirt track. Lucy made it a point to look directly at him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. They held eye contact, neither wanting to give in to the other, before Desmond broke the connection with a shake of his head, and took off down the path at a light jog.

Lucy watched him with a curious eye. Every once in a while he would slow down to a walk, but she noticed that he kept trudging along at a steady pace. Once, he stopped just long enough to grab a water canteen lying off to the side. He puffed his way to where she sat, his face drenched from exertion. Multiple dark patches had formed on his shirt due to the sweat. Lucy tried not to flinch in disgust from the drops that fell off his face onto the soil next to her.

"You sweat a lot," she said. "That's kind of gross."

"You're gross," he scoffed. "Besides, I can't do anything about it." He twisted off the top of his bottle. "Why are you here, anyways?" She shrugged her shoulders.

"There's nothing else to do," she muttered.

"Can't you bother someone else?"

"I don't have anyone else to bother. It beats being stuck inside until dinner." A pout formed on her face, puffing out her cheeks.

"Yeah, I guess." He downed half of his water, tossed her the bottle, and moved back to the track. She set the container next to their things and shifted her legs to a more comfortable position.

Desmond didn't stop after 5 laps. He didn't stop after 10 laps. Honestly, Lucy was surprised how long he kept running. She started keeping a tally next to the doodles in her notebook every time he passed by. He made it to the 13th lap before coming to a halt, and even then, he continued looping around the track as a cool down, passing her twice before collapsing on the ground next to her.

"Do you do this every day?" she asked, trying to keep the incredulousness out of her voice.

"No," he answered between long swigs of water. She watched his chest heave as he rested his head on his arm and reigned his heartrate back to normal. "About once a week."

"Why?"

"Dad wants me to." He snorted, rolling his head up to look at the sky. Clearly, he didn't want to talk about it.

"Why?" she asked again. He gave her an annoyed look.

"Why do you need to know? And why are you spying on me?" He stood up, stretching the muscles in his legs especially. "You kept looking at me all funny during the lessons."

Her cheeks burned. "No I didn't!"

"Yeah, you did."

"So!"

"So what?" Lucy didn't really notice it until now, but when he wasn't slouching in his chair during class, or slumping on his way somewhere, Desmond was a couple inches taller than her. With his arms crossed and an annoyed look decorating his face, it was easy to see how he and his father were related. He scoffed.

"Fine. Whatever." He gathered his things and travelled ten steps away from the tree before he turned around again. "It's almost dinner time. Are you coming or not?"

Lucy rubbed her eyes, finally noticing the pink hue the sky had taken on. Had they really been outside that long? She stood, brushing the dirt off of her shorts and trotting to catch up to the boy walking ahead of her.


	3. Chapter 3

Desmond smiled as he belly-flopped onto the bed of grass, rolling from side to side, the miniature blades sliding back and forth across his skin. He felt a few small cuts form on his legs, but he didn't care. Only after getting what his mom called a "healthy coating of earth" did he finally come to a halt, facing the sky.

Dad made him help out with supplies today. Every couple of weeks a truck would come in with stuff they'd need: mostly food, sometimes papers. If someone broke something there'd be a replacement. An entire afternoon of heavy lifting was good for him, his father said. Desmond wasn't so sure about that. The sound of twigs crunching compelled him to look down the east side of the hill, where Lucy climbed up at a leisurely pace.

"Your dad's pretty strict." Her head blocked the sun from his eyes.

"Tell me something I don't know." He sat up. "Are you just going to keep following me around now?"

"I told you, I don't have anything else to do." She plopped down next to him. "Why does your dad make you do so much extra stuff? Like after everyone's done?"

"It's 'cause he thinks I'm not good enough. 'You're too soft, Desmond. You don't pay attention enough, Desmond. You need to be smarter, Desmond-'" he abruptly ended his rant "-Why do you even care?"

"It just, kinda sucks for you, is all," Lucy looped her fingers around a tuft of grass.

"Yeah, whatever." He was about to roll onto his side, when –

"So, how old are you?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" He snarled at her, and she looked away into the forest.

"My dad says that it's good to ask questions." They sat in silence for a bit, Desmond listening to the gentle breeze play with the tops of the trees, and Lucy playing with the grass beneath them. He felt a bit guilty for snapping at her; it wasn't her fault that there wasn't much for a city girl like her to do in this backwoods little place. Desmond growled to himself before deciding to at least not be so prickly with her.

"I'm thirteen," he sighed, blowing air out of his nose in exasperation, and after a moment's hesitation, "How old are you?" She grinned.

"I just turned twelve."

"Why'd you move out here again?"

"We used to live in Chicago, but my dad needed to leave for business." He raised an eyebrow.

"So, he's out on a mission?"

"Mhmm."

"What about your mom?" Lucy frowned.

"Dad doesn't talk about her," she murmured. He didn't know what to say about that, but luckily for him, she decided to change the topic.

"He's never been gone this long before." She hugged her knees, cheek rested in the crook of her arms. "He usually leaves for a couple of days, but now it's been two weeks and I don't know when he's coming back."

"I'm sure he'll be back soon." Desmond couldn't really be certain of that, but watching her hug her curled up into a ball, it felt right for him to say. He wrung his hands, trying to find the right words to help. "Maybe he'll bring back a souvenir." He saw a tiny smile creep up at the corners of her mouth.

"When I was seven, he brought me back a snow globe." She unfolded her limbs and lay on her back beside him.

"See? Maybe's he's taking so long because he just can't decide what you'd like more."

"Do your parents ever go on missions?" He heard her voice lift slightly in curiosity.

"Sometimes. Mostly my mom. She says Dad's too busy running the Farm to leave."

"How long is she usually gone?"

"A couple of days – once she was gone for a month straight."

"How'd that go?"

"It was okay for a while, but Dad's cooking sucks." She started to snicker a bit, and Desmond found it hard not to laugh with her.

"He almost burned the house down when he tried making meatloaf." Desmond grinned, turning his head to look at her. "Dad doesn't cook anymore."

Her sniggers started to trail off, but she was still smiling, so Desmond took that as a good sign. A quiet fell over the two of them at the top of the hill, this time more agreeable than previous.

"Thanks for listening." Her quiet admission caught him off guard.

"Yeah, sure," Desmond coughed into his fist, startled out of his blank stupor, embarrassed for some unknown reason. He abruptly stood up, only just realizing that the sun was setting over the hills. Brushing the dirt off of his trousers, he rotated around once before realizing that she was still on the ground and sticking his hand out to help her up. "No problem, but we should probably head back, yeah?"

Years later, Desmond still wouldn't be able to describe quite what happened. Something about the way the setting sun illuminated her soft blue eyes, or how the gentle breeze twisted her hair, framing her face, took his breath away. He felt a lump stick itself in his throat, and his heart constrict when she smiled at him. Lucy either didn't notice, or didn't comment on how his hand was clammy, and Desmond was grateful for that. He cleared his throat as she dusted herself off.

"Let's go," he said, grimacing a bit as she let his hand go. She made a noise of agreement in the back of her throat, and they trudged their way down the hill back to camp. Desmond shook his head, shaking off last of the strange feelings he had a few moments ago. He probably was just feeling tired.


	4. Chapter 4

The days blurred together. Their routine stayed much the same, wake up, breakfast, train, lunch, class, dismissed. But at least now, Lucy had something to occupy her free time besides studying. She'd wait for Desmond at the end of the day, sitting under her usual tree as he ran around the track, or if his father pulled him aside to run an errand or practice something from class more, she'd go ahead to their usual spot on the hill and rest there before he joined her.

Over time, Lucy noticed that the other kids began avoiding her. At first she thought she'd done something wrong, and it wasn't until she passed by a group of them whispering that she got a hint as to why.

"…spends all of her time with _him_ …"

She tried confronting him about it, but he said only one thing before dropping the subject.

"No one likes the teacher's kid," he said, with a vague shrug of his shoulders. For once, Lucy decided not to press the issue. With Desmond already used to the way they treated him, she adapted, and things were okay for a while. Things were normal.

Until one day, five weeks into her stay at the Farm.

The morning started the same as any other morning for them. However, the moment he stepped into the schoolhouse, Desmond paused. He blocked the doorway, so Lucy had to peek around him.

"Hey-" she started, but the words caught in her throat.

A stranger sat at the front of the room.

"Desmond?" she whispered from behind him. Lucy was only able to make out the slightest shake of his head, before he slipped into his seat. She waited a moment before tentatively tiptoeing to her desk on the other side of the room.

He didn't move when they walked in, but Lucy noticed his eyes follow her friend to his seat. Once Desmond sat down, the man surveyed the rest of the space. He said nothing, seemingly content watching with his hands folded on the desk. The other kids chatted lightly amongst themselves, the older man almost not even registering to them. A few whispered here and there, wondering who he was – but the fellow either didn't hear any of it, or chose to ignore it. Lucy thought it was the latter.

Heavy footsteps interrupted her thoughts and Lucy swiveled her head back to see Mr. Miles walk in. He stalked to the front, nodding at the balding man sitting in his seat before setting his notebook and a paper bag on the desk to begin.

Lucy found it incredibly difficult to concentrate with the stranger observing them. He didn't move, sitting relaxed behind the desk, arms neatly folded on the desk. The other children eventually forgot about him, turning their concentration to Desmond's father at the blackboard, but Lucy wasn't fooled. This outsider was dangerous. His gaze cut across the space like a knife. Lucy wasn't sure how he was able to do it, but for some reason, no one else seemed to feel as unnerved by the man as she was; as if the man was able to mask the dangerous quality he had in a cloak of harmlessness. She gave up on following the lesson, too distracted to pay attention.

Mr. Miles was drawing some kind of diagram on the board. She tapped her fingers on her notebook, trying to ignore the visitor in the front. It was times like this where she wished the musty old shack had a clock, or something else to decorate the walls besides the knots in the wood. She knew their teacher wore a watch: he checked it every few things he wrote on the board. Desmond had said it was because his father was a hard-ass, and wanted everyone feel like the lessons were longer.

A sigh escaped from her, louder than she meant it to be. Lucy felt blood rush to her ears when the other students scrutinized her before angling back to the board. She slipped a look at Desmond. He was actually listening to the lesson, for once. How he could do it with the other guy watching their every move, she didn't know. He leaned back in his chair, watching his father explain the figures. Desmond never took any notes. She had peeked at his scratchpad a few times while he ran around the track. There were never any notes in it, just a few doodles here and there of the trees outside.

Desmond blinked when he noticed her looking his way. He cocked his head, amused. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he grinned before they both turned to the blackboard.

Except, Lucy didn't get a chance to dive back into the lecture. The man stared straight at her, his hands clasped in front of his face. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Lucy wanted to break away, she really did, but his expression pinned her in place. For a brief moment, she saw something change in his irises, a flash of golden yellow in place of the storm-grey she had seen a moment ago.

It didn't take very long, however, for him to find whatever he was searching for. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms before shifting his gaze. Lucy let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. That was scary, she thought, lightly patting her cheeks. She must have imagined it, but for a second, she thought his eyes had changed color!

"Alright. Get to work." She started: each student had a padlock and a set of tools in hand. She looked down again, surprised to see a lock and key on the corner of her desk, too. When did that get there?

"You okay?" She twisted to her left, finding Desmond standing with a lock of his own in hand.

"What?" she asked, intelligently.

"Dad said we could work with partners."

"Oh!" She ran her hands down her face. "Right."

He put his things down next to hers before getting to work on his lock. Lucy considered the kit before her, hoping that she'd be able to glean something out of diagram, but nothing on the board seemed to make sense. After five minutes of trying to understand, she saw Desmond frowning at her.

"Were you paying attention?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Honestly, no," she laughed. "It all just went over my head." Snatching a long metal rod form her desk, Lucy experimentally tried shoving it into the keyhole.

"Use the tension wrench first," Desmond said, "then you can try raking it." Lucy drew a blank, considering him as if he had two heads. Realizing she didn't understand, Desmond took the rod she held, replacing it with another.

"Try turning it. The side that's springier – that's the side the key's supposed to rotate." Her mind went blank as he took her hand in his own, it being much warmer than she expected it to be, guiding her through the steps. The lock popped open after only a short amount of time prodding. Lucy blinked at him in surprise.

"It worked! How'd you know what to do?"

"I did it once before," Desmond said, his cheeks burning red in embarrassment. He lifted his own open lock, and pointed up at the blackboard. "Mom showed me once a little while ago with a lock like this one. I just tried what she told me to do before." Lucy watched the other kids, noticing how most were still struggling to pry theirs open. The man at the front – she had almost forgotten he was there – had lifted the corners of his mouth up, ever so slightly.

"Still, good job; I think you impressed the weirdo over there," she spoke the last part in hushed tones, gesturing lightly at the observer. Desmond, oblivious to her discretion, spun his entire head, catching his view. Lucy thought she saw his eyes change again, this time while he was watching Desmond, before leaning back and smiling just a tiny bit wider.

"Really? Lucy, he's-" A large shadow fell on the desk. As one, they craned their necks up to Mr. Miles standing in front of them, a curious expression on his face.

"You two finished quickly," He picked up both locks to inspect.

"Actually, sir," she started, "Desmond helped me with mine after he opened his." Desmond looked at her, confused, wondering where she was going with it. She nudged him lightly with her elbow. After all, it was true, she reasoned. Maybe his father would go easier on him if he saw Desmond improving. Mr. Miles, for his part, seemed only mildly interested in what she was saying, not taking his scrutiny away from the lock in front of him.

"Really now?" he asked, although it came out as more of a statement than a question. "Most companies are moving toward electronic, making old fashioned lock-picking like this obsolete." A small "oh" popped out of Desmond's mouth.

"Opening this is a start." Lucy saw a tiny smile grow on her friend's face, and felt a smile forming on her own.

 _Clunk._

Another lock was placed on the desk.

"Now do this one." Lucy felt a pit of dread grow in her stomach as she saw disappointment replace the joy on her friend's face. Even though she didn't finish the lock herself, it didn't take a genius to see that the one Mr. Miles put down was much more complicated than the last one.

"Yes, sir." Mr. Miles walked away after that, leaving Desmond to miserably start working on the new lock. She heard a snort, and her head shot up to the other groups. Everyone was staring. A few tried not to laugh, but a couple of snickers escaped regardless. Lucy felt horrible. All she did was make things worse for him. Gloomily, she faced the board again, when a mighty chill went down her spine.

The outsider had never taken his eyes off of Desmond.


	5. Chapter 5

For the first time in ages, Desmond was let out early. Earlier than usual, at any rate, because his dad didn't give him any extra work. After their lecture was over, as usual he waited behind for extra directions. Instead, his father calmly put his notes away, and told him to leave before turning to the guest sitting at the desk.

"You can leave now, Desmond." It took him a minute to get the message.

"What?" he asked, disbelieving. "You...don't want me to do anything else?"

"Do you _need_ me to give you something to do?" His father questioned, irritation creeping into his voice.

"No-no, sir." Desmond hastily gathered his things before leaving the room; he didn't need to be told twice! Dad might change his mind. Stepping outside he lifted his arms and closed his eyes, stretching the vertebrae in his back, feeling the afternoon sun warm his skin. Since his dad didn't work him to death after the lessons, he wasn't as tired as he normally would've been. Desmond took a moment to take in his surroundings: the trees stood tall as ever, leaves already a multitude of maroons and goldenrods, creating a mosaic effect in the forest surrounding the Farm. He abled a bit west, toward the usual hill he liked to lay on, before stopping.

Actually, he thought to himself, he hadn't gone looking around the forest in a while. He had a good feeling. Maybe that's what he'd do today. He found Lucy casually inspecting the dirt outside of their little shack. Once he caught her attention, Desmond jerked his head at his family's house on the edge of the property before they headed back.

"So, what happened?" she asked. "Didn't your dad give you anything to do?"

"No, he just told me to leave," he admitted as they stepped into the house. Desmond sped down the hall to his room, opening the door for a fraction of a second to toss his things inside. Lucy's room was closer to the front than his was, so she stood waiting for him by the door. Without missing a beat, he snatched her hand, taking the two of them back out of the house.

"Hey-"

"Come on!" he exclaimed. He felt excitement swelled in his chest as he turned his head to call to his mother. "We'll be in the forest!" She answered with an equally chipper reply of "Be careful! Don't go too far!"

Once the door behind them closed, Desmond broke out into a run, grinning as the wind blew against his face. His muscles barely felt the strain as he sprinted into the forest, which he supposed was a good thing to come out from all the extra stuff his dad made him do. Faintly, he registered Lucy yelling at him from behind, trying to catch his attention. Desmond slowed down to a walk. She threw her hands on her knees, bracing herself as she tried to slow down her heartrate. Was she really that tired? He had barely broken a sweat!

"You're, running. Too fast," she spoke between winded gasps. "Where are we going?" He looked around a bit.

Huh. He didn't recognize the area. He had just felt like running.

"I dunno," he said. "I've never been this way before." Lucy marched a little ahead of him before stopping to lean on a tree.

"I would've. Thought you'd have seen everything. With how much time you spend outside." Desmond took hold of her elbow, righting her while she caught her breath.

"Thanks."

"No prob." They meandered deeper into the forest at a much slower pace. He stepped around a spiny bush, trying to avoid extra scratches.

"Mom usually worries that I'll get lost," he admitted. "I did once, when I was five. Spent three hours wandering around until Dad found me. That's why I'm always on that hill, now; because my parents know where it is, and they don't worry too much. Dad's usually got me doing things, anyways." A squirrel chattered at them from the treetops.

"Yeah, it's weird that he didn't give you something today," Lucy remarked. She snapped her fingers, her face lighting up in realization. "Maybe it was to talk to that creep he had in class today!"

"Creep?" Desmond absent-mindedly snatched a fallen branch from the ground, swinging it in front of him like a sword. Blades are pretty cool, he thought. Maybe he could find someone to teach him! Then the bad guys wouldn't stand a chance. He could, go on adventures, save a prince and princess, look for lost treasures; he'd be like one of those heroes in the movies his mom let him watch! "I've never seen him around before."

"Didn't you see him staring?" she asked. "He was looking at you, like, the entire time!"

"No, not really," he said, glibly. They dropped the subject, travelling in silence. Desmond knew she still wondered about it, but he put it out of his mind, doing his best to enjoy nature.

He and Lucy strode along a sharp edge of rock, the trees on the other side several feet below them. The sun's rays warmed the back of his neck. Goosebumps prickled on his skin. Here, a good distance from the farm, wildlife buzzed in his ears, creating a cacophony of sound. Desmond saw Mt. Rushmore in the distance, casting a long, far shadow to the east. He was actually surprised: it was warmer than he expected it to be this time of year. He glanced down at his tee shirt and jeans a little self-consciously, realizing that he had forgotten to grab a jacket before leaving the house.

Eh. He didn't need one now; they wouldn't be out for very long anyways.

"Desmond!" Lucy's urgent whisper interrupted his thoughts.

"What?" He stopped, turning around to find her crouching several feet away from him. "What are you doing all the way over there-"

Lucy's cry was his only warning. A brown blur burst out of the trees and barreled into him full force, knocking him over the edge of the rock outcrop. Desmond landed on his back with a dull thud, barely registering the fall. How could he, when a mountain lion was trying to tear his face off?

His arms rose of their own accord, blocking its furious swipes with the branch that he somehow managed not lose in the fall. Somewhere in the back of his mind, understood that the small twig was thing separating him from being torn to ribbons by the cougar's retractable claws. It snarled. Spittle sprayed all over his neck. Desmond's heart galloped wildly in his chest. He recognized the metallic taste of blood on his lips; felt it run down his chin in a slow trickle.

This is how he was going to die. Only thirteen, in the middle of the woods, made into a big cat's meal. Would his parents miss him? Or Lucy? He could barely hear her cries over the blood pumping in his ears. His limbs trembled. How long could he hold this for? His arms began to fold from the pressure. The branch groaned, bending under the mountain lion's bulk.

Something growled from his left, and suddenly the mountain lion's weight was thrown off of him. He lay there for a moment, shocked. What had happened? Desmond turned over, and crouched on all fours, he saw it: a gray wolf, sinking its powerful jaws into the shoulder of the beast.

The cougar shrieked in anger, tossing itself left and right, demanding the wolf release its hold. The wolf clamped down harder in protest. Without warning, the canine released its enemy, immediately swiping its nails across its adversary's eye. The feline turned its head down in pain. It swiped blindly at the mongrel, catching the tip of its claw down the mouth, drawing blood, but the wolf didn't back down. It snapped its jowls at the mighty beast, managing to clip the cougar's foreleg in the process. Blood dyed the ground red.

Desmond saw something in the fight change. The animals warily circled each other in an intimate, deadly dance. The wolf growled a deep sound from the back of its throat, before suddenly barking in rapid succession. The cougar hissed, and after a tense pause, tilted its head down in a submission, putting as little weight as possible on its injured leg as it hobbled away. Once the mountain lion was gone, the remaining canine relaxed, sitting back on its haunches.

The wolf had turned to face Desmond, and the moment their gazes connected, the rest of the world fell away. Time stopped. Its amber eyes soothed him somehow. It made him feel safe; almost as if he knew those eyes.

"DESMOND!" He broke eye contact with the wolf, whirling to where Lucy peered at him from the top of the rock. He turned back to look at the wolf. The animal tilted its head down, like a nod, before it padded off into the distance. It was gone long before Lucy was able to climb down.

"Are you alright?" she fell to the ground in the last few steps before she reached him, and finished the distance on all fours. "That was crazy! How did you survive?"

"You have a nasty cut over your lip." Lucy reached out to him, her hand hovering just over his mouth. He gingerly probed his face for the wound. Blood came away on his fingertips.

"I don't even feel it," he said. He blinked; come to think of it, he could barely feel anything. Lucy gently lifted his arm over her shoulder.

"Come on, Desmond, help me out here," she grunted. He leaned half of his weight on the girl to his side.

"We need to get you home," she explained. They started the arduous trek back to the Farm. "What happened down there?"

"I…dunno," he only barely managed to force out the words. "One minute, there's a mountain lion. Next minute, there's a wolf."

"A wolf?"

"Yeah." Desmond stopped for a second, nearly causing Lucy to trip from the abrupt halt. He squinted back at the trees behind him.

"It saved me."

There was a moment where neither of them spoke, and he must have imagined it, but he thought he saw a pair of amber eyes glinting at him in the distance. He felt, rather than saw her shake her head.

"Let's just get you home."


	6. Chapter 6

The Mentor tapped his fingers on his thigh, waiting. If he kept waiting much longer, it would turn dark enough to turn on the lights in the dim little office. He was surprised William was able to get anything done in here. The only window in the room faced the sunset in the west, casting the office in a warm glow of burnt-orange light. After patting his knees a few times in silence, Bill finally arrived with two cups of coffee in hand and a heavy gait in his step. The man must have just finished speaking with the kids in their rooms.

"Your students show much potential," he started. Bill set the mugs on the desk before collapsing into his chair, running a hand down his face. "Surviving a mountain lion attack; that's no ordinary feat for their age."

Bill's son and the girl, had arrived home sometime in the evening, the boy leaning on her for support. He limped stiffly into the house, bleeding profusely from the mouth. Catherine had ran frantically out of the house the moment that the two of them had come within sight. The Mentor himself had been observing the various members of the Farm from the edge of the settlement when they arrived. William let out a vicious sigh before speaking.

"They told me a wolf had saved him." The Mentor's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"Really? Fascinating." Bill threw his hands in the air.

"He knows not to be reckless. He can't be getting into situations like this!" The Mentor twisted his lips in disagreement. "And his ridiculous story? He should know that if he's at least going to lie he should do a better job of it."

"Bill, he's only thirteen. A kid his age is bound to get into a little trouble every now and then."

"No." he shook his head, standing to his feet. The Mentor watched him pace the room with a nervous energy. "Not Desmond. Not my son. He can't afford to be reckless."

"Sure, he's a little reckless," he started, "but he'll make a good assassin one day. The girl's got potential as well."

"Lucy's smart. She catches on quickly." It didn't escape his notice that William diverted the topic away from his son. Bill pulled a file out of his desk, opening it to a page with a single photograph of the girl clipped to the top. "Her physical ability isn't the greatest, but a little more training and she'll catch up. She started her physical training later than the others, after all." The Mentor nodded, agreeing with him.

"What's the status on Stillman's long term mission?" William asked. The Mentor shook his head. The other man sifted through the folder, taking a look at the girl's records.

"His last message informed us that the Templars have moved some of their best agents to the Middle East. None of our men on the inside can figure out why, though." He unfolded his hands, crossing them across his chest.

"He'd be proud, if he could see his girl," William added. The Mentor nodded, bringing his mug of coffee up to his lips. "Laura would have been, too."

"What of your son?" Bill paused mid-sip as he processed the question.

"What of him?" he asked. The Mentor pulled out his son's file from the same drawer, tossing it on the table next to Lucy's.

"Are you proud of him?" William tried to remain uninterested, nonchalantly grunting from the back of his throat as he drank more coffee, but he couldn't hide anything from the Mentor. Especially not the shaking of his bone white knuckles around his mug. He idly wondered if he would break it.

"Of course. I don't know why you would ask me that kind of nonsense."

"Lying ill becomes you, William." The Mentor gave him a pointed look. "From what I see, your son is a budding young man, willing and able to learn the ways of the Creed, yet _you_ refuse to involve him in any more than the basic training. The other families here have already started specializing their kids by now. Passing on the family secrets."

"He still has a lot to learn-" The Mentor cut him off.

"Don't we all have much to learn, then?" he asked. "Why do you hold him back? Your own father was teaching you how to fight by now. Why do you keep him in the dark?"

"He's not ready. Desmond needs _a lot_ more training before even being _close_ to ready for the field." William took his son's profile from the desk, thumbing through with a critical eye. He separated a few sheets from the rest, spreading them across the desk. Numbers circled in red adorned the top right corner of each paper in the same exact script.

"These are all of the tests he's taken over the past year." The Mentor picked up the tests.

"They _do_ leave something to be desired," the Mentor admitted, "but they're not terrible. I've seen rougher scores come from some of our most reliable assassins."

"Desmond could do so much more if he were to actually apply himself!" Bill exclaimed. "You've seen him in their lessons, the boy never pays attention! His scores are barely scraping by! An assassin in the field can't afford to be distracted by any little thing outside." He gesticulated wildly with his hands, throwing his arm at the window for emphasis. The Mentor raised his eyebrow: he didn't expect to get such a passionate response from the man. Bill opened his mouth to continue, but the Mentor cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"The tests you've given them so far can only measure so much, William. Give the boy a chance. He might surprise you." The Mentor smirked at him. The elder Miles' right eye was twitching, and the Mentor wasn't sure if he even noticed. "I'm sure of it. That boy's the one." He watched Bill deflate back into his chair. He knew he had won.

"Then what do you propose?"

"Give him something to do." The father opened his mouth to object, but the Mentor cut him off. "And not those "extra training sessions" that I see you giving him every day. Give him a real assignment." The man pulled out a card from his pocket, handing it to his subordinate. An address and 9 digit phone number was written in neat, slanted script.

"Intel from one of our inside members recently sent us an itinerary that tells us Abstergo's schedule for their Chicago facility for the next year or so. One of the events is a field trip planned for a middle school five months from now. Enroll the boy. Classes have most likely started already, so he'll be a little behind, but he'll catch on. That'll also give him time to blend in with the other kids before the trip." The Mentor began straitening the papers on the desk. "Send him on the field trip, have him scout out the building. See how he does." He packed all of the papers into their correct folders, pushing the files to the corner of William's desk.

"I'm not going to send _my son_ into the lion's den without backup-"

"I already have agents at that location, they can keep an eye on him during the trip." He could see Bill beginning to give in. "Nothing will happen to your son, and he won't get into any trouble without us knowing and being able to step in. Besides, adults tend to be much more forgiving towards mischievous kids than trespassing adults. It's a win-win situation." The man ran his hands through his hair, again. After a lengthy pause, the Mentor heard him agree.

"Fine," he conceded. "Fine. But if I bring my son, someone else has to go in with him. Someone to needs to keep him on track."

"Take the girl with you," the Mentor responded. "If you think he can't handle it alone, then bring her as well." Bill snorted.

"So you'll trust my judgement with Lucy, but not with my own son?" The Mentor thought Bill sounded actually offended behind the statement.

"It's precisely _because_ he's your son that I need to tell you otherwise-" He stopped talking. A small _thump_ sounded outside in the hall. The Mentor shared a meaningful look with his subordinate. Catherine stepped into the room after half a minute.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "I just saw Lucy close her bedroom door; did she hear anything she shouldn't have?" The Mentor smiled.

"No, no," the Mentor said. "She'll know soon enough. I was just telling Bill he should take Desmond and Lucy on an assignment in the near future." She beamed.

"That's a great idea! That'll give you some time to spend with Desmond, too." She plucked her husband's coffee from his hands. "You've been distant with him lately; maybe now you can bond with him a little bit. He might even feel more comfortable with Lucy being there. The two of them are inseparable nowadays." William ran his hand through his hair for the third time. The Mentor asked himself just how many habits the man had formed during the years due to stress.

"You're forgetting something: what are we going to do about my work here? I can't just up and leave the Farm." This time, Catherine beat him to the punch.

"Will, I think I can handle running things in your place for a couple of months. I'm a fully trained assassin too, you know. Besides, as your wife, you'd think I'd have an idea of how to run things around here." The Mentor clapped his hands together in a self-satisfied manner.

"Well, I think that about settles it. Bill will enroll Desmond and Lucy into the school in enough time for them to assimilate with the other kids. Once the field trip comes, you'll have them go in," he addressed Catherine directly, "completely supervised, of course.

"Then, you'll see for yourself just how prepared they are."

"And I can take care of things here while you're gone," Catherine added. William let out a deep sigh before grudgingly nodding.

"Alright. Fine. When would you have me leave?" The Mentor scratched his chin.

"You'll need to come up with a convincing story about why you're moving them in the middle of the semester. You'll also need some time to pull up all the necessary documents: birth records, residency forms, vaccinations. Luckily, we have contacts in the area who have connections around the town; a few of them are in the local government's office. The number on the card I gave you is for the assassin placed in charge of that area. Contact him, and he'll get what you need. A week should suffice before the move." William sighed, and Catherine moved over to rub a hand comfortingly on his back. The Mentor patted him on the shoulder as he left.

"Well, I'm going to turn in for the night. I suggest you do as well; you have a lot of work ahead of you, Mr. Miles." He halted in the doorway before leaving.

"And do try to relax, Bill. Those nervous-tells of yours might prove harmful for your upcoming mission."


	7. Chapter 7

Lucy gingerly rapped her knuckles on Desmond's door. This early in the morning, he may still be asleep. She needed to talk. She shouldn't have been eavesdropping last night, but she needed to know! It was still dark. There were about thirty minutes before the sun rose, and then she wouldn't get him alone until the end of the day.

"Desmond," she whispered. Something rustled from inside the room, before the door cracked open.

"Lucy?" Desmond squinted at her, eyes still bleary from sleep. "Why are you up so early?"

"I needed to talk to you. Can I come in?" He hesitantly cleared the doorway. She slipped inside, careful to not let the door squeak as she shut it.

"What do you want?" he asked. Lucy noticed that his voice was rough. Kind of like sandpaper, she thought. She sat on his bed, turning on the dim lamp on his bedside table.

"Remember the man who was in our class yesterday?" Desmond walked back and forth around the room, grabbing things to take into the bathroom later to get ready.

"Yeah, what-" He stopped for a moment to clear his throat. "What about him?"

"I heard him and your dad talking after you knocked out last night. He's the Mentor! And they were talking about sending us on a mission!" Lucy had a hard time keeping her voice down by the end of her sentence. Desmond had to shush her to remind her to not wake his parents.

"Who?" he asked. Her jaw dropped.

"You don't know who the Mentor is? He's a legend!" He shook his head.

"No. I might've heard the kids around mention him before."

"He's the head honcho!" Lucy whispered conspiratorially. "The teacher; the one in charge! He basically tells us all what to do! He travels around the world to all of the assassin bases, even fooling people into thinking that he's in two places at once!" Desmond rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"And how do you know this, exactly?" she paused before answering.

"My dad told me stories," she mumbled. "He's _the_ mentor. Back before the assassins united, each group had their own mentor." She counted names off her fingers. "Altair I'bn Lahad. Ezio Auditore. Achilles Davenport. When all the factions were united, we all united under one man. _The_ Mentor: successor to the entire assassin community! Only a handful of people even know his real name." When he didn't say anything in response, she sighed.

"Don't you get it? We're going on a mission that _the Mentor_ wants us to do! This is huge," she proclaimed. Desmond gave her a flat look.

"I doubt it."

"What?! This is great news!" He shrugged.

"I dunno," he stretched his hands above his head. "I just have a hard time believing that Dad would send any of us on a mission – especially his disappointing son-"

"Okay, what's really going on here?" Lucy interrupted. "What's your problem? Every time I bring up your dad you get all sensitive about it." He paused.

"You've seen him: he barely think's I'm good enough to do anything," Desmond spat.

"That's not true-"

"Isn't it?" he cut in. "You've seen him during our lessons. I can't finish anything with him around to critique me all the time."

"Dad doesn't think I'm good enough. Why would he give me a mission if he doesn't think I can even get his stupid little tests right?"

"He thinks you can do it-" Lucy started to lie, but Desmond stopped her with a flat look.

"Yeah, right." A tense silence fell over them, only Desmond's clock, _tick, tick, ticking_ away indicated that time was passing at all.

"Well," she began. "I do."

"What?"

"Trust me," she said again. "Even if you don't think your dad believes in you, I do."

He looked at her in stunned silence for a moment before scoffing.

"Yeah, ok." Even though his head was turned away again, Lucy still saw the small smile stretch across his face.

"How's your lip doing?" she asked. He brought his fingers up to the wound, lightly feeling the skin around it.

"It's ok. Still bleeding a little." A knock at the door brought their small talk to a close. Desmond's mother peeped her head in the room with a small smile on her face.

"There you are, Lucy," his mom says. "I just came to make sure the two of you are awake."

"Thanks, Mrs. Miles." She opened the door all the way and leant her full weight on the frame.

"So what were you two talking about?" his mother asked. A shrewd gleam shown in her eyes. Lucy saw Desmond glance her direction before crossing his arms.

"Nothing important, just some stuff. You wouldn't get it." He stood, gathering his things in his hands. "Now if you'll _excuse_ me, I'm going to get ready for another exciting day." He sulked off down the hallway to the bathroom. Lucy heard Catherine chuckle slightly as he shut the door to the bathroom.

"He gets that from his father, you know," she said conspiratorially, through grinning teeth. "Neither of them are morning people." Lucy's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Really?" Mrs. Miles nodded, knowingly.

"Yup. Will usually tries to hide it as best as he can, but whenever someone wakes him up, he gets the same gravelly morning voice that Desmond does. Just like a grizzly bear." She giggled, noting the grumpy frown she had seen on Desmond's face when he opened the door. Lucy saw his mother turn her head to look at the closed door of the bathroom, hearing the shower turn on, before the older woman clapped her hands together.

"Well, breakfast will be ready soon. I'll let you know when to come eat," she said, before exiting.

The rest of the week passed by in a blur, PT and lessons going as expected. The Mentor only came during their physical, but Lucy suspected that he was still watching. Lucy kept waiting for Mr. Miles to say something, announce that they were leaving, but as the days went by without a warning, she felt her nerves get on edge. By the seventh day, she spent her whole morning on the edge of her seat.

It was on the eighth day of waiting when Mr. Miles finally gave them the signal.

There was no warning in advance. All she got was a rough knock on her door after dinner before he came in.

"Start packing," he commanded. "We're leaving at sunrise tomorrow – bring enough clothes for a week."

Two sentences. Those were all she got before he shut the door closed again. Desmond's father could be heard down the hall speaking to his son, likely giving him the same task before heading back to his office. After a minute of silence, she heard rushed footsteps patter toward her door before Desmond burst in.

"Did he tell you, too?!" his mouth was slack-jawed in disbelief.

"I told you so," she sang, before he grinned and left. The smile slipped off her face a minute after he retreated out of the room. She pulled her duffle out form the closet and started packing her clothes.

Tomorrow. Her first mission; _their_ first mission. Her only first shot at proving herself. Lucy paused after folding her second pair of pants, interrupted by a thought.

Did Dad know she was leaving? She had always hoped that he would be the one to lead her first mission: that the two of them would work side by side as family.

It's been months since he'd left, and there wasn't any contact from him at all. She knew that their work was important, and that he wouldn't be able talk to her that often, but she was worried. If he had reported in at all, then would Mr. Miles have told her about it? Probably not, she reasoned.

As she began to fold a few shirts into her suitcase, Lucy continued to wonder when he would come home.


End file.
